


Life is a Series of Choices

by compo67



Series: Punzel Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Jared, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, M/M, Mother's Day, Motherhood, Mpreg, Protective Jensen, Schmoop, Top Jensen Ackles, male mommy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time stamp to the Punzel Verse. Set five years after the birth of the triplets. Jared's father dies and he has a difficult time dealing with grief and regret. Mother's Day is the perfect time to help him start healing--if only Jensen can figure out what to do. [Fill for SPN Kink Meme May 2014.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life is a Series of Choices

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHH.
> 
> I wish I had more time to write y'all. I would be so happy. 
> 
> This is a fill I kept trying to work on but got sidetracked by a few things. So happy to finally be able to finish it and post. :D Thank you sycho for the prompt and all your support! <3
> 
> Are y'all ready to cry? XD
> 
> Enjoy! Bask in the schmoop. <3
> 
> Also, this is filled with references to Punzel, which if you've read it, you'll understand. I hope you catch all the references, especially the last few lines. Tell me you did! 
> 
> So, you kind of need to read Punzel in order to get the full experience but this could sort of be a stand alone fic... sorta. Either way, it's fluffy.
> 
> edit: the song! the song here is "I Choose You" by Sara Bareilles. it's one from her newest album, the same with "1000 Times" on it. her stuff is usually on whenever i'm writing. :)

He starts a few weeks before the big day every year, before the local shops get their promotions and sales going up. Some years he’s gotten Jared useful gifts and other years he’s presented him with fun splurges.

Last year was a splurge with a three day trip to San Francisco. They spent the majority of their time up north having sex in their hotel room or on bar crawls through the city’s underbelly. Drinks were cheap, the guys had the kids all weekend, and Jared had magical Texan cures for hangovers. Jensen doesn’t remember too much of that weekend—except that at one of the bars he won a game of pinball, set the high score, and was given two rounds of free drinks—but it was great. He’s never eaten so many limes in his entire life. Some of the best moments that weekend were playing nickel games in an arcade by the pier and spending too many quarters in the binoculars by the Golden Gate Bridge.

This year is different.

Jared’s father passed away right after the trio’s fourth birthday in April. Although Jared hadn’t seen or heard from his parents in about six years, he took it hard when the lawyer called. They were in the middle of cleaning up party favors and streamers from the lawn.

For a solid week, Jared was not himself.

Now, in the second week of May, he still isn’t completely there; Jensen can tell that he’s working hard to keep a good front. The reality of their lives just doesn’t leave much time for grieving, or so Jared wants to think. Jensen has repeatedly offered to switch places. His work with Ken in the gardens can take a backseat to the needs of his family. They’re working on getting the gardens ready for a city event in July but it’s nothing Ken and Antonio can’t handle for a week. It’s not like Jensen would be far away. He could work from home on the nonprofit side of the gardens and take care of the kids with the guys and their grandmothers. Jared could take his time to actually deal with what has happened instead of brushing it off and picking up more hours at work.

Jared works part-time at a coffee shop downtown called Matilda’s. For twenty hours a week he makes lattes and iced coffees for Santa Monica residents and visitors. He hosts the Little Hands Art Club in the café every third Sunday of the month; each class is sold out two months in advance. And while it’s great for Jared to be busy with work he loves, Jensen wants him to step away. Taking a break isn’t giving his father power over him in Jensen’s point of view, but Jared has a different opinion.

Matilda herself has suggested that he take a week or two for himself; they’ve hired another part-timer, a college kid that’s just started for the summer and they can spare him sooner rather than later.

“It’s better if I work,” Jared insisted when Jensen brought the subject up two days ago. “I don’t… I don’t want to be at home doing nothin’ so everyone needs to stop treatin’ me like a delicate flower and drop this whole thing.” His accent being out meant he was upset so Jensen didn’t press further.

With all the chaos of the family lawyer requiring teleconferences and faxes and signatures and the event itself, Jensen didn’t get to start early on his Mother’s Day plans.

On an afternoon off—the kids are spending time with Jeff—he’s walking through downtown, window shopping and trying to come up with something. The kids have made a list, which he’s held them secret to under threat of tickles and eating worms, but they’re four years old so the suggestions are a little limited. Kaylee’s suggestion is a pony. Bailey’s is a rocket ship. Hailey has the most helpful additions to the list; she wants to get Jared lots and lots of flowers and candy. When Jensen asked her if there were specific flowers she wanted to get, she thought about it for a moment before clarifying, “Pretty ones, daddy.”

Walking through Santa Monica is as familiar to him as it was Anaheim. He passes by a street performer making elaborate origami—everything from dragons to monkeys hanging in a chain—and tosses a dollar coin into their open violin case. He’d like to get a cup of coffee to help with his planning but Jared’s at work and seeing him will be a distraction. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and aside from the obvious— _pretty_ flowers, candy, and a gift card to Jared’s favorite bookstore nearby—he hasn’t got much else. Jensen doesn’t like to force presents. He likes the ideas for them to come naturally; so it always takes him a while to decide on the perfect gift for anyone but especially Jared. How can he give the person who gave him fatherhood anything as good in return?

On cue, a text from Jared comes through. “Are you nearby?”

Outside of the glossy Barnes and Nobles in the Third Street Promenade, surrounded by the beginning of the summer tourists that flock into Santa Monica, Jensen replies quickly. “Yeah what’s up?”

It’s no secret in their house that out of the four of them, Jared and Misha are the ones who are the most capable of handling technology without breaking anything or swearing at it. Like lightning, Jared texts back. “Swing by please?” There’s the promise of coffee, as there always is whenever Jensen visits at work, which helps one problem he’s having.

He passes a jewelry store on the way. The thought is tempting. But he can’t ruin his Christmas plans.

Just a few blocks over, Jensen makes his way into Matilda’s Coffee but doesn’t see Jared working behind the bar. The café is packed and the line goes out the door with people wanting iced drinks. An iced Americano sounds great to Jensen right about now but it can wait. He makes eye contact with Matilda—a woman in her thirties who used to belong to a motorcycle gang but decided to open up shop two years ago and has been successful at it ever since—and she motions to the back. “Go through the kitchen,” she hollers out before getting back to the espresso machine. “C’mon, now Luke, let the man through.” The new face must be the college kid. He looks absolutely terrified and glad to get away from the bar for a moment so he can open the backdoor for Jensen. On the register is Laurel, who waves at Jensen briefly. The cakes in the display case are almost gone. There’s just one lonely vanilla and strawberry cake left, which Jensen hears someone ask for as he’s squeezing himself towards the back.

To boost sales and utilize his skills at baking, Jared makes fresh cakes three times a week for Matilda’s. On the best days they sell out before five in the afternoon. On the worst of days the staff takes one home each and donates the rest. They’re smaller cakes but Jensen can’t remember the technical term for them—dwarf cakes, that has to be it.

Funneled through the cramped and fully stocked backroom, Jensen emerges from the kitchen relatively unscathed. He’s covered in a bit of flour and baking cocoa but that’s okay. He’s not paying attention to that right now. His eyes scan the alleyway. Sitting on a milk crate near the dumpster, Jared holds his head in his hands. Jensen makes his way over in two quick steps. Holy shit. The texts hadn’t sounded this urgent. What’s wrong? Is he okay? Hold on, Jensen can get a bottle of water and…

“I’m fine,” Jared blurts and sits up. “Punzel, I’m fine.”

Everything in Jared’s eyes says that he is not fine. He is anything but fine. His eyes are red, the tears on his face are fresh, and he’s bitten his nails mercilessly. And for all the care that Jared takes with his hair, it is now out of its loose ponytail and knotted up. Jensen kneels and places his hands on Jared’s knees.

“Spill,” he says with urgency but without force.

“I just… needed… to see you, that’s all…”

“It’s more than that.”

“No,” Jared says sadly, breaking their eye contact. There is a sharp twist of vulnerability in his voice that causes Jensen’s chest to squeeze. “It… it’s really not, Punzel. I just needed you here. I’m sorry. I…”

This is the part Jensen is good at. He isn’t so great at braiding the girls’ hair or packing their lunches. And he’s not as animated as Papa Jeff is when it comes to bed time stories. He is also not all that great at spontaneous days at the beach or Candyland marathons like Mimi is. And of course, no one is as good as mommy as piggy back rides and raspberries and making pancakes. But everyone knows that when there are boo-boos and owies and tummy aches and I-don’t-feel-goods they go to Jensen.

Maybe a hug is really simplistic thinking here. Maybe there’s some other grand, elaborate gesture that Jensen could do right now that would instantly make everything better. He stands and leans forward, his body naturally posed to curve in towards Jared.

One of the best things about Jared working at Matilda’s is the smell. Every time Jared comes home he smells like freshly roasted coffee. If Jensen sniffs a little more, sometimes he can detect hints of hazelnut, chocolate, and whipped cream. Of course, underneath everything, there’s still vanilla and an afternoon Anaheim breeze from the balcony of a one bedroom apartment.

Scooped up and pressed close, Jared begins to unwind. He’s grown two inches since that afternoon on the balcony over La Plaza. He’s changed a lot since Cream Pan and the hotel pool and reaching forward from sitting on the bathroom floor and pressing his thumbs over the pressure points in Jensen’s throat—where trust lives. But one thing hasn’t changed and that is what Jensen gives back now as he bears Jared’s weight against his in the back alley of Matilda’s, the afternoon before their fifth Mother’s Day together.

It started with dad and daddy. Then, one sleepy, gray and rainy afternoon, Bailey woke up from a nightmare. He was two years old. Jared and Jensen skidded into the trio’s room—in the same house they still happily share with Mimi and Papa—and then it happened. Jared picked up Bailey while Jensen calmed the girls down; don’t worry, Bailey’s going to be okay. It’s okay. It’s okay to be scared and it’s okay to feel sad and it’s okay because you are never, ever alone.

“Mommy.” Jensen got to hear it.

“I know, baby.”

“Mommy!”

“Shh… baby, it’s okay. It wasn’t real. I’m here now.”

And for a moment that passed too quickly, Jensen got to see it: his son and his partner near the bay window of the lavender room, rain pouring and all of California crying like the two year old held tightly to Jared’s young but fiercely protective chest.

It’s in those moments and the millions more before and after it that Jensen wishes he could stop time.

“It’s okay,” Jensen murmurs now, his hands in Jared’s hair. His shoulders swallow sobs. His ribs bear the beating of Jared’s loud and uninhibited grief. “I’m here now.”

 

Despite everything, Jared refuses to leave work.

Once he isn’t trembling and crying, he insists that he can’t leave Matilda short staffed tonight. He’ll finish the two hours left of his shift and then they can talk later. Sniffling still, Jared thanks Jensen and kisses his cheek in appreciation. Jensen promises a back rub, warm shower, and a mug of herbal tea when Jared gets home. Tired eyes look back at Jensen’s and Jared pulls away before he starts to cry again.

There is no point in arguing with Jared. He’s set on staying and Jensen won’t force him to go home if he wants to lose himself in the chaos of the drink line for the rest of the night. He follows Jared back inside, holding his hand in the backroom, and when they have to let go so Jared can get behind the counter and Jensen can leave, there’s a tight squeeze. Jensen squeezes back. They separate just in time for Jared to swoop in and start three drinks at the same time. Matilda looks visibly relieved but she scans Jared’s face out of concern for a split second. Seeing that he is somewhat better, she looks over towards Jensen and nods. She’ll see him home once the store closes.

Outside and away from the line still snaking out of Matilda’s, Jensen takes in a deep breath.

He can’t imagine what it’s like losing a parent. Well, he can’t imagine what it’s like losing Hannah. It would be strange to know that his father wouldn’t be sending a postcard when he passed away but that’s the extent of Jensen’s feelings in that scenario. His father maintains a precarious distance from all of them now that he has met someone new. Exactly one postcard arrives every year at Christmas from him, with “To Jensen and all” written on it in handwriting different from the secretary’s.

Without Hannah, Jensen would be incredibly, utterly lost. She moved from Anaheim with Laura just to be closer to all of them. The grandmothers are priceless. Jensen has had their gifts for this year already picked out in advance. The thought of not having them is more than terrifying; it’s disturbing.

Without any of his Santa Monica family, Jensen wouldn’t be the same.

What hurts about Jared’s father passing away is different. A large part of Jared’s life is gone forever. They won’t ever get a chance to make up and they won’t have the opportunity to possibly speak again. Jensen can go either way with his own father—Alan is a grown man and Jensen can only accept who he is—but Jared held out for his father. Even though his father put him through hell, Jared never once doubted that his father was a good person. No one, not even Tristan, was ever allowed to speak negatively about his parents. Jared maintained that his parents did the best job they knew how to do with them.

Jared was holding onto the possibility that one day, his father would call him and apologize.

That’s never going to happen.

Jensen didn’t think it ever would but he never intruded on Jared’s hope.

Neither brother went to the funeral. Neither brother was left anything in the old man’s last will and testament beyond a prayer for their eternal souls. Jared’s mother has sold the house in Carrizo Springs and is planning on moving to Scottsdale, Arizona. She hasn’t phoned. All of this is what they’ve found out from the family lawyer.

In six years, Jared hasn’t once been back to Texas.

An idea blooms. Jensen checks his watch. He can get Matilda to stall and direct Jared afterwards.

He runs back to the center of the Promenade.

 

What did people do before Google? What did people do before libraries? What if you wanted to know what a certain city looked like—how would you find that out without the library or Google? Short of going there, what else could have been done?

Fortunately, Jensen doesn’t have to answer these questions. He pulls up Google and offers the origami street performer one hundred dollars in cash for an on the spot commission. While Jack, that’s the performer’s name, gets started, Jensen runs over to the nearest hardware store. Up and down the aisles he searches for the right amount of wattage. As he’s pulling packs down from the shelves, he gets on the phone with Antonio. Yes, tonight. Nah, Jensen knows it’s tomorrow but it has to be tonight.

A bevy of phone calls are made. He speaks on the phone with the trio and they promise to do their best. The guys agree—everyone will do their best. Once the phone tree is launched—the guys’ job is to call the grandmas, Auntie Rhonda, and Uncle Tristan—Jensen moves ahead with the rest of his plan. A quick check-in with Jack proves that he is more than a performer—he’s a god damned miracle worker. Jensen adds fifty bucks more to his original offer and Jack’s hands work a little faster. Perfect.

Tonight. It has to be tonight. The sun is setting.

Yama Gardens sits on the rooftop of a three story building that Ken owns. He meets Jensen there at six, even though he’d already gone home for the day. With their gloves on, they start set up while Antonio is on his way with the tables on loan from his brother-in-law. Mimi and Papa should be here soon with the kids and their tambourines. Auntie Rhonda sends a text that she’s en route and she’ll be picking up the list of details Jensen sent her. A stop at the hobby shop two blocks down should do the trick and if not, she can improvise. She’s dragging Tristan along for accuracy.

Little by little, Jensen sees the entire plan pull together.

He gets on a ladder and begins spinning electric cord.

 

Jack pulls through. Jensen sends a text to Matilda, who replies back, “Sure thing, Jenny. See you in thirty.”

Everyone takes their places.

 

Part of what hurts so much about his father passing is that out of all the people in the world, his father chose others before his sons over again and again. He purposefully chose to never contact Jared, despite a Christmas letter two years back that explained Jared’s new life out West. He knew about the triplets and chose to turn away. He chose to speak about himself like he had no sons.

And he chose to spend the last moments of his life with anyone but his own children.

Life is a series of choices. Some are easier than others.

It started with dad and daddy. When Bailey cried for mommy, Jared made the choice to accept his new name. He could be mommy. He could be anything and anyone his children needed.

Mommy is six foot four and has started to tower over daddy. Mommy loves arm wrestling with Jeff and taking the kids for walks around the block and baking at all hours of the day, especially when he can’t sleep. Mommy doesn’t mind doing laundry but he would much rather hang out on the hammock in the backyard, three toddlers on and all around him. Mommy braids the girls’ hair when Papa and Mimi are at work or on vacation. Mommy knows that Bailey likes his sandwiches with crust and the girls don’t but everyone loves Scooby snacks. Mommy was patient the entire year that Kaylee would take off her right shoe—just the right one—and hurl it at their heads in the car. Mommy can endure hours and hours of Dora the Explorer and yes, Disney movies. Mommy can balance a double stroller and a single stroller, two diaper bags, and open a door. Mommy breastfed until the trio was eighteen months old even though by the end of it he was a mess and a half. Mommy has passed on his accent to the trio and it’s the best thing in the world when four y’alls are heard in the house.

That was a choice Jared made, whether he was aware of it or not, to be mommy in that moment and all other moments after it. When it comes time for pierced ears and dating and dances and driving, Jensen hopes they’ll all remember they are never too old for mommy.

 

“Did you bring it?”

“Yeah, Tristan’s got it,” Rhonda answers, smiling even though she’s lugging up bags of props. “This is such a great idea. How’d you think of it?”

Jensen shrugs and takes several of the bags from her. He whistles and everyone gets assigned a section.

“I have a really good song,” Jensen replies a little while later when he’s setting up the gas station.

Everyone pulls streets together.

 

“I don’t know what you have to show me that’s so important up here, Matty. I’m tired and shit…”

“Don’t swear,” Matilda snaps.

“Okay,” Jared snaps back. “I’m tired and _sugar_ can wait.”

“Quit your whining. I told you, I think I left something up here yesterday.”

“You weren’t here yesterday!”

“Oh, excuse me; do you know every second of my life, Jared?”

“Why’d you need me here, I just wanted to…”

Matilda pushes the employee door to the roof open and steps out. She holds it open for Jared, who follows right behind her, looking pissed. His black shirt is covered in traces of whipped cream and mocha stains.

His eyes go wide and his mouth hangs open when he sees the roof.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” Everyone steps out shouting and laughing and clapping. The lights go on. On top of the lights already installed in the gardens for nighttime, Jensen has strung white twinkle lights in a few rows of the taller plants and trees. The roof sparkles with the rest of Santa Monica on a Saturday night.

They’ve spent a lot of time in the gardens since their move out here.

But this isn’t Santa Monica, not tonight.

“Oh my god,” Jared cries, his hands over his mouth. “It’s… I… oh my god.”

On five tables there are sections of Carrizo Springs, Texas. Street names have been written in chalk on the ground, with hearts and flowers and smiley faces drawn beside them by smaller hands. Over on US 83 there’s Lee’s Steakhouse, and the gas station right next to it that sell individual cigarettes to thirteen year old twin boys bored and looking for something to do. In the center of town there’s the red Justin Boot tower—a tower in the shape of a cowboy boot that the town remains proud of year after year. On Main Street there’s the First Baptist Church and the large oak tree right behind it Tristan used to dare Jared to climb when they were boys. On the outskirts is the water tower, where Jared got his first kiss from a boy in his math class freshman year, where Jared and Tristan would climb to be away from everything and everyone, and where Tristan fell on a hot August night and broke his arm and Jared had to run to the nearest house to call 911.

Finally, on its own separate table, is a house. It’s small and doesn’t look like much at first but important things are there: the mailbox Jared used to sit next to in hopes of something exciting happening, the car on cinderblocks in their drive that dad kept meaning to fix or get rid of but never got to, the basketball hoop they nailed to the garage even though their mother said it was sinful to pass the time that way, their bikes on the ground hidden in the grass for quick exits on worse days, and finally, their family dog waiting on the back porch, looking out West.

Every structure, every building is made out of origami paper, even the boot, even the water tower, even the church. A few trees are made of paper but most are smaller bonsai plants Ken placed on the tables. The rest of the details are miniatures from the hobby shop strategically placed according to Tristan’s memories, which so happen to be Jared’s memories too.

Jared picks up the model of his golden retriever, who passed away the spring before he left. He closes his eyes and holds it to himself.

“Buddy,” Jared murmurs. Two seconds later, Jared starts bawling.

But that’s okay.

They’re back in Santa Monica now.

And everyone who loves Jared is here.

 

Flowers, pretty ones, are presented to Jared as he sits near the water tower. One by one the trio unfolds their Mother’s Day cards. Jeff helped them with the glitter glue this year. Misha steps forward and hugs Jared tightly, murmuring that there is no one in the world he’d want to share Mother’s Day with other than Jared. May is for Mimi and mommy; June is for Papa Jeff and daddy. This year, Saturday is for Jared; Sunday is for Misha. Jensen hopes it’s always going to be this way.

The grandmothers descend with hugs and kisses and tears. They spoil Jared as much as they spoil the kids. That’s not a bad thing.

One by one, everyone gets their time with Jared. Champagne and juice boxes are doled out and Antonio orders pizza. Auntie Rhonda gets her friend at the ice cream shop a block down to deliver an ice cream cake. Tristan punches Jared in the arm. It’s been a year since his twin has come around. He was tired of the loss. This is one person Jensen is glad Jared never lost hope in. They aren’t like the trio—if one gets sick the rest feel it too—but they’re getting there.

Finally, it’s Jensen’s turn.

He steps up with his guitar tuned and ready to go. It gets a lot of use these days and he’s had to replace the strings more than once. There are sing alongs and backyard fire pit circles and rainy days and fussy toddlers at the end of the night who always fall asleep to the sound of it. There are birthdays and anniversaries and difficult nights and just because.

No time is wasted here. Jensen jumps right into the song. The pizza is here and he doesn’t want it to get cold. Matilda is going to take a group picture right before everyone digs in.

Joining in with tambourines that they wave around for fun, the kids stand near Jensen to form their own band. Jared started drum lessons last year and he’s got another class later this summer. They could form their own family band if they wanted to and possibly go on tour and make a cheesy sitcom out of it. Who knows? The possibilities are endless.

This tune Jensen has heard on the radio. It’s a softer song but he turns it up a bit, strumming loud and confident. He jumps right in after a few practice chords. Everyone quiets down; Jeff manages to get the kids to pause their contributions to the band for a few minutes.

“Let the bow break, let it come down crashing. Let the sun fade out to a dark sky.” He keeps his voice lower here. “I can’t say I’d even notice it was absent cause I could live by the light in your eyes.” Gradually, he lifts his pitch and the chords get higher. “I’ll unfold before you what I’ve strung together, the very first words of a lifelong love letter.” Playfully, he sways with the guitar, holding it like he’s holding one of the kids; Jared stands up and grins wide. Jensen bumps their shoulders together and continues. “Tell the world that we finally got it all right. I choose you,” he sings clearly, eyes on Jared, drawing out the O’s.

His voice drops low again for the next line. “There was a time when I would’ve believed them if they told me you could not come true. Just love’s illusion.” Before. “But then you found me and _everything_ changed. And I believe in something again.” After.

With nothing but sincerity and poise, Jensen sings clear. “My whole heart,” his voice slows and becomes light again, “will be yours forever. This is a beautiful start to a lifelong love letter.” Now. Jensen works the strings up to the last part. “We are not perfect, we’ll learn from our mistakes and as long as it takes I will prove my love to you. I am not scared of the elements, I am underprepared but I am willing…” Hazel eyes meet green ones standing in the middle of a rooftop garden surrounded by twinkle lights. Jensen smiles. He quiets the guitar for this line.

“…and even better, I get to be the other half of you.”

The finish is happy and quick. His hands play like he wrote this song. His voice and the guitar finish at the same time.

“I choose you.”

After the song there’s a moment where everyone is quiet. Even the city is quiet in that moment. It’s another moment Jensen wishes he could pause. Someone grabs the guitar from him. Jared moves towards him. It’s natural for his body to lean towards Jensen’s.

 _This_ is what hasn’t changed.

Grief begins to leave. Regret fades.

Life is a series of choices.

Jensen whispers into Jared’s ear as they hold onto each other, each embracing the other as tightly as they can. This right here. This is fixed. This is undying.

“I have been loved well enough.”

Mommy cries.

Daddy pulls out a handkerchief.


End file.
